


Take This Sinking Boat and Point it Home

by lynnearlington



Category: Glee
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-05
Updated: 2011-06-05
Packaged: 2017-10-20 13:41:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/213364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynnearlington/pseuds/lynnearlington
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are over two million people in Chicago, so when Mike runs into Rachel one afternoon, purely by chance, to say he’s a little surprised is an understatement.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take This Sinking Boat and Point it Home

It starts with, of all things, an e-mail from Santana Lopez. 

 _Chang,_  it reads,  _defcon 1 situation. Chicago is no longer safe._

There’s an animated picture of Godzilla destroying Tokyo under it, and he laughs a little.

He’d be startled, maybe, if Santana didn’t e-mail him something of this nature nearly every other week. Last week it was because the local bar removed her favorite beer from their tap selections, the week before it was because Brittany brought home a stray dog. 

He clicks the e-mail closed, and yawns. Santana will call him eventually, whine about whatever strange problem she’s deemed apocalyptic this week, and Mike will talk her off the ledge just like always. 

Six years after high school and some things just never change. 

\--

Late Saturday, Santana finally calls him. 

“Way to ignore my e-mail,” she says as soon as he picks up. 

He picks the remote up off the couch, and turns the volume down on his TV. “What’s up?”

“Rachel,” Santana intones ominously. 

“Rachel who?” 

There’s a pause, before Santana repeats, “ _Rachel._ ” 

He wonders if maybe Santana’s drunk, or high, or  _something._  He wracks his brain to figure out what she’s talking about. “Who?” 

He hears her let out a low breath before finally saying, “Berry.” 

He hasn’t heard the name in years. Not after they all graduated high school and went on different paths. Mike ended up in Chicago with Santana, and Brittany, but Rachel ended up somewhere else, and for the life of him Mike can’t remember where. LA, maybe. New York, most likely. 

“Chang, are you hearing what I’m saying?” 

“Rachel Berry,” he replies. “What about her?” 

“She’s  _here,_ ” Santana answers, her voice in a low whisper. 

“What, like in your apartment?” 

“In the city,” Santana clarifies. 

Mike laughs. Only Santana would consider this a dire situation. “This warrants an emergency alert?”

“Rachel Berry,” she says, like that’s enough an answer, “Have you like forgotten all of high school or something?” 

“We were friends with Rachel,” Mike argues. 

It’s mostly true; by senior year, glee club had grown pretty tight, a lot of the old animosities buried. Apparently for Santana, however, some things will just never die. “No,” she replies. “We were all in glee together. That doesn’t make us all life long friends.” 

“We should invite her out with us, do you have her number?” 

There’s a long pause this time, and Mike struggles not to laugh at the expression he imagines is on Santana’s face. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that.” 

“You do what you need to do.” 

“Well I did my duty, you just watch yourself. She could be anywhere.” 

“I’ll be sure to watch my back, and avoid any dark alleyways,” Mike jokes. 

“You think it’s a joke, but that little midget freak will sneak up on you, and than you’ll be sorry,” she warns. 

“Santana,” Mike laughs, “high school was nearly a decade ago, get over it. Chicago is huge, the chances of running into her are low.” 

“Fine,” Santana huffs, but Mike can tell she’s kind of laughing a little too. “Are you being a lame shit tonight, or did you want to come out with us? Brittany wants to go dancing.” 

He stretches a little, groaning, and nods. “I can go out.” 

“Good, see you in thirty.” And with that, Santana hangs up, and Mike just keeps laughing. 

\--

There are over two million people in Chicago, so when Mike runs into Rachel one afternoon, purely by chance, to say he’s a little surprised is an understatement. It’s at a sidewalk coffee vendor that Mike spots her, and his feet move him towards where she’s standing before he even really processes her presence. 

“Rachel Berry,” he says softly, the name coming out on a chuckle as he walks over to her. 

She jumps in surprise, turning to face him, and her eyes go wide with recognition. “Oh my god!” 

“Hi.” He smiles, waves a little. 

“Mike Chang,” she breathes, sounding awed. 

He laughs, and steps closer, and reaches around her for a hug, smiling at the way she grins widely, looking almost shocked.

“I heard you were in the city,” Mike says. “Didn’t expect to see you so randomly though.” 

Rachel tilts her head to the side, curious. “You heard I was in the city?” 

“Santana,” Mike explains. 

“Santana Lopez?”

“Yeah, she and Brittany live here too.” 

“You’re kidding,” Rachel replies, a soft, disbelieving smile on her face. “Wait, how did she know I was in the city?” 

Mike shrugs, laughing a little. “I’ve learned not to ask questions like that when it comes to Santana. She just seems to know things.” 

“Scary.” 

“Yeah, pretty much. I’m not totally convinced that she’s not secretly a CIA agent or something.” 

“Scarier.”

“Well she hasn’t tried to take over the world, or stage a coup as far as I can tell, so I think she’s relatively harmless,” he jokes. 

“And you all live in the city?” 

“Santana and Brittany have an apartment more north, and I’ve got place south side. Where are you staying?” 

“A hotel for now,” she says. “Haven’t found anything permanent yet.” 

“So you  _are_  moving here?” 

“Yep.” 

“It’s like a McKinley High reunion. Next I know, Finn, Quinn or Puck will come off the next train.” 

Rachel laughs. “You know, aside from living with Kurt and Blaine, I’ve gone nearly five years without running into anyone from high school, and now I end up in a city with three of you.” 

“What are you doing here, anyway?” He points to the small silver cart they’re standing near. “Come all the way to the Windy City for our delicious street coffee?” 

“Actually I should probably get going. I’m late for a meeting,” she says, eyes shifting downward for a second. “It was nice to see you.” 

It’s half polite, half genuine, but it comes out before he even thinks to form the words. “We should have drinks some time. Catch up.” 

Rachel’s face goes soft in this way that pulls a smile across Mike’s face. “I’d love that,” she says softly. 

She punches her number into his phone, and calls herself so that she has his, and when she smiles at him before she walks away, Mike thinks he’s almost looking forward to seeing her again. 

It’s only when she walks away that he gets a good look at her. She’s not wearing anything special; her coat is bland looking hue of grey, and her hair is pulled back. She doesn’t look much like the Rachel he remembers, but there’s something about the way she walks, like no matter what kind of costume she’s wearing, her body remembers who she is. It’s a mix of determination, and pride, and as she disappears into the morning commuter crowd, Mike stands there and watches until he can’t see her anymore. 

\--

Unintentionally, he actually forgets about Rachel. His social life is pretty limited anyway. He works three jobs because he needs the money, and when he’s not working, he’s either out with Santana and Brittany, or lying exhausted on his couch. 

It’s a couch night, when his phone rings shrilly from the coffee table, and he considers not answering it for a second. It’s probably Santana anyway, and he knows he’s not up for going out, but it could be Brittany, and she’s a little harder to ignore. Santana gets mad, Brittany gets sad. 

Not willing to deal with a fallout, he reaches over with a groan, and swipes his phone off the table, sliding it open and pressing it to his ear. 

“‘lo?” 

“Mike!” The voice in his ear is about four times louder than he needs it to be, and far too excited. It takes him a moment to place it, but after the second, more unsure, “Mike?”, he figures it out. 

“Rachel,” he says, clearing his throat and sitting up. “What’s up?” 

“I, um,” there’s a short pause, and Mike tries to clear exhaustion out of his head, “I was wondering if I could take you up on that drinks offer.” 

\--

They meet at a trendy bar on Rachel’s side of the city. She shows up wearing this simple black dress looking nothing like the colorful girl he remembers from high school, and she orders a dirty martini like she’s been drinking them all her life. There’s something off about her, something he can’t quite figure out, but when she leans over the table, and he can almost see down her dress, he thinks maybe it’s just the shock of finding out how hot she’s gotten all of a sudden. 

It’s not that she wasn’t attractive before, it’s just that now, with the freedom of being able to notice, she’s almost overwhelmingly good looking. 

She smiles at him, twirling the stick of olives in her drink, and he blinks against the urge to eye her up and down like he’s still a fifteen year old boy. “So what do you do now?” 

He laughs, takes a swig of beer as he shrugs. “What  _don’t_  I do?” 

“A man of many hats?” 

He shrugs again. “I work a few jobs. Money’s scarce.” 

Rachel looks at him curiously. “Oh?” 

“Yeah.” He nods. “I work at a coffee shop four days a week, I spin records at this club on the weekends, and I tend bar whenever I can get hours.” 

She looks at him for a second in silence then, brow furrowed. “You’re not dancing?” 

Mike laughs, but the sound comes out more bitter than he means it. “I gave that up a long time ago. Hard to make money doing that anyway so I just dance for fun these days.” 

“But Mike,” she says softly, leaning forward and looking almost  _concerned._  “You have such a talent.” 

Mike shrugs. He knows he has talent, he’s heard countless people tell him just as much. For a long time he thought that might be enough. The city taught him pretty quickly that it isn’t. “Well, what about you?” He deflects, pointing his beer bottle towards her. “Thought your big plan was to see your name up in lights on ‘ol Broadway. What are you doing here in Chi-Town?” 

When Rachel laughs, it sounds a lot like his own, and something tightens in his chest at the look on her face. This Rachel Berry is so much different than the one he remembers. 

“Those plans didn’t exactly pan out the way I would have liked them to,” Rachel says softly. 

He cuffs her lightly on the shoulder, and smiles curiously. “What happened to all that Rachel Berry determination that used to bowl us all over in high school?” 

“She got a heavy dose of reality, I guess.” 

“Didn’t think something like that would stop you.” 

The smile that spreads across Rachel’s face doesn’t really reach her eyes. Mike doesn’t know what to make of it. “Neither did I.” 

\--

The conversation lightens up a little after that. Mike talks about moving to Chicago, breaking up with Tina after graduation, becoming friends with Santana and Brittany, how different Santana is outside of Lima, how much Brittany hasn’t changed. Rachel tells him about breaking up with Finn, how it wasn’t as hard as she thought it would be, about her first apartment in New York, and the first friends she made - more like competition than actual companions. 

Rachel’s different than he remembers, but there’s a lot about her that’s still the same, and a swift wave of nostalgia hits him at the sound of her laugh, unhindered for the first time that night. She’s laughing at some stupid joke he’s told, and it’s so unlike being with Santana or Brittany who would just roll their eyes or look confused, respectively. 

When they leave, three martinis and four beers later, Mike rides the El to some hotel she’s staying at until she finds an apartment, hugging her tightly before stepping away. 

“We should do this again sometime,” Rachel says quickly, like the words have been begging to get out for hours. 

Mike smiles, and this time he feels like the expression isn’t forced. “That’d be nice,” he says. 

\--

Unlike before, Mike doesn’t forget about Rachel. Free time isn’t something he has a lot of, but when he realizes he’s going to have some time open on a Thursday night, he tells Santana that he’s spending the night trying to beat the newest  _Tekken_  game, and calls Rachel the minute Santana’s exasperated ranting about how lame he is ends. 

Rachel sounds surprised to hear from him, but pleased. It’s an encouraging kind of feeling, like it’s not just him wanting to see her. 

“I was actually just about to call you,” she says, and he smiles at that. 

“Oh yeah?” 

She clears her throat, and it’s a nervous sound, but her words are confident. “I wanted to see if you wanted to hang out with me some time this week?” 

“Rachel Berry,” he says jokingly. “I thought you’d never ask.” 

\--

They decide to meet at her hotel, and Mike waits for her on the sidewalk, hands in his pockets as he rocks back and forth on his heels. 

When she finally appears, he smiles at her, stepping forward, and after what looks like a moment’s hesitation flickering across her face, she takes a step towards him, holding her arms out to hug him. 

“So where do you want to go?” He asks when they break apart. 

Biting her bottom lip, she looks up at him for a second before seemingly deciding something. “There’s a bar down the street I’ve been going to occasionally.” 

“Sounds great.” 

\--

The bar isn’t anything special, but it’s definitely not the kind of place he’d picture Rachel Berry frequenting. He had assumed, with the memories he has of her from high school, that the place would be a bit more upscale, or touristy, like something out of the movies. The kind of place he remembers her going on and on about in high school when she talked about moving to the city, and making it big. 

Maybe, he supposes, she left all that in New York. 

Then, after they’re seated at a small table in the back, he spots the stage on the opposite side of the room, a karaoke machine towards the right hand side and two abandoned microphones on top of it. 

Mike’s never been much of a singer, but he’s not really as terrible as he may have let on in high school, so he only waits about two rounds of drinks to point towards the stage and say, “They’ve got karaoke here.” 

Without looking to where he’s pointing, Rachel nods, laughs a little. “I know.” 

“Well, Rachel Berry,” he says, pulling his shoulders back with a feigned air of nobility, “would you do me the honor of singing with me?” 

“Nothing would delight me more,” she replies, mimicking his posture.

She tugs him up on stage, and hands him a microphone, and he can’t help but laugh at the infectious smile on her face. In the span of the few seconds it takes for the karaoke machine to boot up, and the music to start playing it’s like Rachel transforms. Anything that might have felt off about her before, anything that might have indicated that the last few years had changed her, slips away, and it’s just like high school again. It’s like she’s  _herself_  again. 

Rachel starts to bounce a little, and she opens her mouth to sing, motioning him to follow suit. He does, moving a little bit around her, but he doesn’t hear any distinct sound. Her voice sort of muffles out to a dull roar in his ears, because he somehow gets lost in just watching her. 

It reminds him of when they were younger, those few times she’d let her guard down, and the entire glee club would just jam together. He can’t get enough of watching her, of letting his eyes take in the way her hair falls over her shoulders, and her mouth moves to form words, and when she brushes close to him, turns her head up to sing just for him, he thinks, for a fleeting moment, he might kiss her. 

The urge passes quickly, and it’s only when he smiles and starts to move that he realizes that for a second there, he wasn’t breathing. 

\--

Brittany’s eyes go wide one day over lunch, and she leans across the booth with a massive grin on her face. “You  _like_  her!” 

His fork hovers in the air near his mouth, his story about his plans to go with Rachel to some concert on Friday abruptly halted. “What?” 

Santana looks towards her girlfriend, equally confused. “ _What_?” 

“Rachel,” Brittany clarifies softly, still grinning. “You  _like_  her.” 

“No,” Santana and Mike say at the same time. They exchange strange looks for a second before turning back to Brittany. 

“He doesn’t like  _Rachel Berry_ ,” Santana explains, setting her sandwich down to give her full attention to Brittany. 

“Well, I mean, I like her, I just don’t like like her.” Santana turns to him again, but he ignores her, keeps looking at Brittany. 

“Yeah you do,” Brittany says, eyes bright. 

“Brittany,” Santana admonishes, and something about the way it so clearly annoys Santana amuses Mike. 

Mike shrugs, smiling a little. “She’s different than I remember her being. Though a lot of her is the same too.” He laughs. “I don’t know, I just think she could use a friend right now. ” 

“That doesn’t have to be  _you_ ,” Santana says pointedly. 

“But it could be.”

Santana rolls her eyes, but Brittany, having abandoned the conversation to scan the dessert menu, interjects before she can say anything. “Do you think the chocolate castle is  _actually_  the size of a castle?” 

“Yes,” Santana answers absently, at the same time Mike says, “No.” 

Brittany looks between them, confused like she doesn’t know which one of them to believe, but doesn’t say anything else. Just looks back at the menu, a furrow in her brow. 

Shaking her head, Santana turns back to Mike. “I warned you about this,” she says, pointing a finger towards him. 

He swats at her finger, and rolls his eyes. “We’re just hanging out,” he says. “What’s wrong with being her friend?” 

Santana scoffs, but there’s a hint of a smile in the corner of her lips, and she glances at Brittany briefly before speaking. “That’s how it always starts.” 

\--

That night, as he’s lying in bed unable to fall asleep, he thinks about that moment when he almost kissed Rachel, thinks about the light flush in her cheeks, and the crinkle of skin around her eyes when she was laughing. He remembers the way her shirt clung to her torso, and the way her jeans looked, tight against her legs. How warm she was when she gripped his arm to stay balanced, and the way her fingers clung just a little too tight, a little too long. 

Memory suddenly shifts to fantasy, and he’s kissing her. Pushing her against the wall, and tangling his fingers in her hair. It’s on him before he can stop it, and he’s hard in minutes, with the image of Rachel’s neck arched back, and the sound of her breathless in his ear. 

When he comes it’s with a jerk, and a groan. He just barely catches himself from saying her name into the silence of his empty room. 

\--

He gets an e-mail from Santana a few days later. The subject reads:  _SERIOUSLY_ , and when he opens it all it says is:  _If you fall in love with Rachel Berry, of all people, I will gouge your eyeballs out with a rusty spoon._  

There’s an animated picture of someone destroying a computer with a hammer, and Mike rolls his eyes as he clicks delete. 

Five minutes later, he gets an e-mail from Brittany with a sad face emoticon in the subject line.  _Don’t listen to Santana,_ it reads.  _Rachel’s kinda weird or whatever, but she’s cute. And sex with cute people is always fun and happy and stuff. :)_

Mike shakes his head, laughing, before he deletes it. 

His inbox suddenly gets flooded by e-mails. The next one is from Santana again, blank except for the subject line:  _DO NOT LISTEN TO BRITTANY._

The next six alternate between Santana and Brittany, all with similar subject lines. He selects them all and hits delete, but the smile doesn’t leave his face. 

Closing his laptop, he stands, pulls his phone out of his pocket and calls Rachel. 

\--

Hanging out with Rachel ends up being something he just kind of falls into. His circle of friends sort of start and stop with Santana and Brittany, and besides the people he sees at work all the time, that’s it. Having someone else to do things with takes a little adjustment, but suddenly he has plans for coffee, and to see movies, and shows Rachel’s interested in, and before he knows it, Rachel’s in his apartment. Cooking. 

Something so domestic shouldn’t be so sexy, but he can’t deny the way his brain sort of derails when her hands, steady and sure, cut up vegetables, or stir something in the mixing bowl. He coughs, and shakes his head to stop himself before he gets carried away enough to actually do something about the desire that’s curling in his gut to touch her. 

“What are you making?” Mike picks a carrot up off the counter, and bites off a piece, evading Rachel’s indignant slap easily. 

“You’ll see,” Rachel replies, the words caught on an affectionate chuckle. 

He lets it go, steps away to hop up on the counter behind her, and watches as she moves around her cooking space, the sound of low, almost inaudible humming reaching his ears. Years ago, the idea that this would be a completely familiar moment in his life was almost laughable. Yet here he is, watching Rachel Berry hum in his kitchen, and feeling a heavy warmth settle in his chest. No matter how tired he is, how exhausted from a endless days of working, and double shifts, there’s something about being with Rachel that shoots all that fatigue out of him. 

Rachel shakes a little bit to whatever tune she’s got in her head, and he loves the way her hair bounces with the movement, and the way her hips look as they sway side to side. A smile spreads across his face that he can’t seem to stop, and suddenly, without thinking, his mouth decides this is the perfect time to say, “Go out with me.” At least it’s better than what he could have said.  _Take your clothes off._

Her shoulders tense, the sound of her humming cutting off as her hands stop their work, and his brain suddenly registers what he just said. It’s not that he didn’t mean it, but out of nowhere fear of rejection creeps up and forces the next few words out rapidly. “I mean, like, go out, to the club or whatever. With Santana and Brittany. This Saturday. It’d be cool to hang out. I’m sure they’d love to see you.” 

Rachel turns to look at him, and it’s the only thing that stops him from slapping himself in the face for how ridiculous he sounds. 

“You want me to go out with you?” 

The expression on her face is hard to read, and Mike can feel his face heat up. He swallows thickly, and shrugs, forcing nonchalance into his demeanor. “Do you want to?” 

A strange, almost disbelieving smile starts to form on Rachel’s face, and he watches her bite her bottom lip as if she’s trying to stop it from happening, but the crinkle in the skin around her eyes gives her away, and she nods quickly. “That’d be lovely,” she says softly, “though I’m not sure Santana and Brittany would be wild about seeing me.” 

Mike laughs, not really caring about what his friends think. There’s a light flush on Rachel’s face, and she’s looking at him in a way that makes him think maybe he shouldn’t have covered his first statement. Yeah, he doesn’t care about anything outside this little kitchen right now. “They’ll be fine.” 

She seems to consider the proposal for a moment before saying, “Okay.” 

“Okay?” 

“Yeah, I’ll go out with you,” she says. “With all of you I mean.” 

Mike knocks his heels against the cabinet under them, and barely controls the little shimmy that wants to flow through his body. “Cool,” he breathes. 

She grins a little, but turns back to cooking before she says anything else. “Can you grab me a frying pan please?” 

He hops off the counter, and with her back turned to him, practically dances towards the cabinet holding the pans.

\--

Later that night, after Mike is full of some weird vegan lasagna that surprisingly tasted delicious, he walks Rachel back to her hotel despite all her protesting. 

“You have any good apartment prospects?” As they walk down the sidewalk, his eyes skim the windows of the buildings they pass. 

“Not really,” she says quietly. She sighs, but when he turns to look at her, she smiles, picking her shoulders up. “It’s fine though. A person’s place of residence is a huge decision, a reflection of who they are as a person, and picking such a place isn’t a decision anyone should take lightly. I’m perfectly content at the hotel for now.” 

They arrive at said hotel just at that moment, and Mike laughs as he takes in the ornate looking entryway, and the well dressed doorman greeting them with a smile and a nod. “Yeah, the digs aren’t so bad, huh?” 

“No, not as such,” she agrees. Her hand curls around his bicep and squeezes, pulling his attention to her. “Thanks for a nice evening, Mike.” 

That warmth from earlier settles back under his ribs, and abruptly, like a swift wind pushing him towards her, he’s overcome with the urge to kiss her. He has to squeeze his hands into fists just to stop himself from giving in, manages a smile instead. “Hey you’re the one that did all the cooking, I just enjoyed the results. Thank  _you._ ” 

She bites her lip attractively again, and looks down, smiling a little. He seconds from kissing her, but she moves before he can, and walks towards the front doors of the buildilng. 

“Saturday?” He calls out, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he turns to look at her. 

At the door, she turns to look at him, this time smiling freely, and bounces up a little on her toes. “It’s a date,” she says brightly. 

She walks into the hotel, the doors shutting behind her. “It’s a date,” he whispers to the empty sidewalk. 

\--

Santana Lopez is nothing if not entirely predictable.

“No.” 

“Come on, you’d be there anyway so what’s the big deal?” 

“I’m not going out to the club with  _Rachel._ ” 

Mike breathes out forcefully through his nose, debating a moment before saying, “You owe me.” 

“What? I do  _not._ ” 

“St. Patrick’s Day,” he says darkly. 

There’s silence for a few seconds, and he can almost see the reaction on Santana’s face in his mind’s eye. “You want to waste that on _this_?” 

“I do.” 

“Fine,” she finally says. “Whatever. We’ll see you there.” 

\--

Saturday night, they all go to the bar Mike DJs at because he never has to pay a cover, and he gets discounted drinks all the time. Plus, it has a huge dance floor, and it’s close to his place, so it’s a win-win all around. 

They find an empty booth on the edge of the room, and after Santana gets them a round of drinks, they take a seat there, watching the crowd move together across the big open floor in front of them. 

It’s a little awkward for a second, because Santana just stares at everyone with slight distaste as she sips her drink, and Mike’s not sure what to say, but Brittany cuts right through it all, greeting Rachel like an old friend and asking her all kinds of questions about what she’s been up to. 

Mike watches the conversation happen right over him, Brittany on his left, and Rachel on his right, with a slight smile on his face, shaking his head at the way Santana rolls her eyes, but loving her for the little grin that’s threatening to come out the entire time. 

The rest of his time is spent watching Rachel, who has this look of cautious joy on her face, like she can’t believe this is where she is. Mike feels an uncomfortable stab of guilt for not making enough effort to know her in high school. 

She laughs at something Brittany says, and grabs on to his arm, leaning in to him as laughter practically takes over her body. Brittany’s grin is wide and easy, and even Santana starts laughing. He has no idea what’s so funny, but the sound of Rachel laughing is so infectious, and she’s warm where she’s pressed up against his side. His own laughter bubbles out of him without restraint. 

The table falls silent after that, and Mike picks at the label on his beer bottle nervously, unable to decide if he should ask Rachel to dance or not, unsure of whether she’d say yes. He can feel Brittany staring at him from his left, but he just keeps his eyes trained on the silver label of the bottle in front of him, his leg bouncing up and down under the table. 

“Ask her to dance,” Brittany whispers in his ear suddenly, her mouth practically pressing against the side of his face. Santana looks at them strangely, but Mike just ignores it. Rachel, oblivious next to him, watches the dancers, and twirls the straw around in her glass. 

He gestures at Rachel’s glass, bumping her lightly in the shoulder to get her attention, and even though her drink is over half full he says, “Another one?” 

Thankfully, Rachel doesn’t laugh. She just smiles at him, shaking her head. “No thanks, I’m fine.” 

Santana rolls her eyes at him from across the table, and Brittany’s up against his side again, whispering in his ear. “You should really ask her to dance.” 

He shushes her as subtly as he can, but he doesn’t think he’s entirely successful because Rachel whips her head up to look at him curiously, and Santana starts laughing from her seat. 

Then, before he can think of something charming to say, Brittany grabs him by the shirt, and drags him up out of the seat. Surprised, he has no choice but to go with the tug, stumbling upward, and following her onto the dance floor. “Brittany,” he chastises. 

“You’re not moving fast enough, I’m helping you.” 

When she starts to move to the beat, his body responds instinctively, but his brow is furrowed as he leans close to her. “Helping me with what?”

“Getting Rachel,” she answers matter-of-factly. She grins at him in a way he’d consider mischievous if he’d ever think Brittany capable of such an expression. 

His feet keep moving, following her own movements like he’s been doing it forever. Which, when he thinks about it, he pretty much has. “So you’re...,” he trails off, gesturing at her, and glancing quickly towards the table where they’ve left their friends. 

“Dancing,” Brittany answers, looking at him curiously. She runs her hands down the front of his shirt, gripping her fingers into the fabric there and pulling him closer. “Do you not remember what that is?” 

“I know what dancing is,” he grumbles, “obviously.” 

“Trust me,” Brittany whispers. “This always works with Santana.” 

He’s about to ask  _what always works with Santana,_  but before he can say anything, Brittany’s arms are around his neck, and their bodies are pressed flush against each other. It’s distracting for just a moment, because this is  _Brittany_ , and he can’t deny that he’s been half in love with her since high school. She’s hot, and awesome, and he’s a guy, so having her all pressed up against him isn’t exactly something he can easily ignore. 

“Keep your eye on the prize,” Brittany whispers in his ear with a laugh like she knows exactly what he’s thinking. 

Glancing again at their table out of the corner of his eye, he can see Rachel and Santana, staring at them, and clearly putting a lot of effort into ignoring each other. He wonders briefly if leaving the two of them alone together is such a bright idea. But then Brittany laughs, and the sound makes him smile, and it’s not hard to forget everything, and just focus on moving his body in time with hers. 

He loses track of how much time passes as he dances, working up a decent sweat and having a pretty good time. Brittany’s eyes are bright, and happy, and he remembers why he always loved doing this in the first place. 

He’s about to tell her just that, to tell her that he loves dancing with her, and he wishes they could do it all the time, because she’d understand that, understand this part of him that few do, but before he can get any words out, Santana’s pulling them apart and stepping in front of him. 

Brittany’s smiling, like she’s accomplished something, and Mike sees what her plan was all along. He’s just not sure it really works on anyone but Santana. He doesn’t stop laughing even when Santana shoves him backwards, palms on his chest. It helps that she’s smiling too. “I love you, Mike, but find your own girl to dance with tonight.” 

He looks over his shoulder to where Rachel is sitting, watching them curiously, and Santana follows his gaze. She opens her mouth to say something else, probably along the lines of  _any girl but Rachel_ , but Brittany grabs her, turning her around so they’re facing each other, and Mike’s able to escape back to the table. 

“Hey,” he says, still a little breathless as he sits down. 

There’s an expression on her face that he can’t quite read, but there’s a small smile on her face so he’s not too concerned about it. “You’re so good,” she says quietly. 

“Huh?” 

“You’re so good,” she repeats. “At dancing. I’ve forgotten how good you are.” 

He laughs. “Thanks.” 

“No,” she says, scooting closer to him, her face suddenly serious. “Thank  _you_.” 

He’s not quite sure what she means by that, but he isn’t able to ask her for clarification because suddenly she’s standing, hand outstretched towards him. Without thinking, he slides his palm against hers warmly, and clasps her hand, letting her tug him back up out of his seat. 

She pulls him towards the dance floor, a smile on her face that he doesn’t think he’s ever seen before. 

It’s different, dancing with Rachel. It’s not like it is with Brittany whom he’s been dancing with in one form or another since they were kids, but there’s still familiarity between them, formed from the time they’ve spent together recently. 

They dance for what feels like hours, and it’s not long before Santana and Brittany join them too, jumping around, and flailing around like they’re all still teenagers. 

Not for the first time, Mike catches himself watching Rachel with a grin on his face, laughing at the expressions she shifts through. She’s laughing too, at whatever move Brittany’s exaggerating around them, and even Santana has a smile on her face. 

There’s a moment, right as Rachel bumps into him, grabbing his arm, when the urge to kiss her wells up in him. Stuff like this really needs to stop happening in places he’s not sure he wants to actually replace want with action. 

He hesitates for just a moment, and it’s enough for Brittany to grab Rachel by the arm, spinning her in a circle, and out of Mike’s grasp. The moment is over, and Mike not quite sure if he’s happy or sad that he missed it. 

\--

Mike convinces Santana and Brittany to go out to dinner with them the following week. Well, to be fair, he convinces Brittany, which isn’t hard, and then convinces Brittany to convince Santana, which, according to Brittany, isn’t that hard either. 

Going out to the club was nice, and fun, and a good way to get them all together for the first time in years without a heavy dose of awkward. The loud thumping of music, and crowds mitigates some of the uncomfortable silences that fall over dinner tables. But now that there’s this thing sort of building between him and Rachel, this feeling in the pit of his stomach that he doesn’t know what to do with, he thinks dinner is in order. 

The meal was supposed to be a chance for the four of them to get to know each other better, for Santana to maybe realize that Rachel wasn’t the “dwarf nerd” she remembers from high school. He wants them all to get along. 

They’re barely through with their dinner when he realizes that while Santana may have agreed to go out with them, it doesn’t mean she’s going to make things easy on him. From the minute they sit down she focuses all her attention on Brittany, and Mike can see where it’s heading a mile away. When he sees Santana wink, and scoot a little closer to her girlfriend, her hand disappearing under the table, he knows it’s a lost cause. 

“Are they always like that?” Rachel leans close to Mike to ask the question, but her eyes are trained on Santana and Brittany across the table. Making out. 

Mike laughs. “Yeah, pretty much.” 

“Don’t they realize they’re in public?” 

“You say that like it isn’t the  _reason_  they’re acting like that.” 

Rachel turns wide eyes his direction, and his smile widens. “Come on,” he says. “They’ll be at that for a while, let’s get out of here.”

Clearly grateful for the reprieve, Rachel picks up her purse and follows Mike out of the restaurant. 

He shoots her an apologetic look as they walk down the sidewalk. “Sorry, there’s really no controlling them sometimes.” 

She laughs a little. “It’s okay, really. In fact it’s kind of romantic, you know? They survived high school, and made it out here. They’re still going strong. I’m happy for them.” 

“Yeah,” he says. “It doesn’t happen for everyone, that’s true.” He thinks, with a sort of fond nostalgia, of Tina, of how they thought they’d make it forever, and how heartbreaking it was to realize that wasn’t the case. He wonders if Rachel is thinking of Finn, or maybe Jesse. Maybe even Puck. 

“I’m glad we found each other,” Rachel says suddenly. “I mean, I’m happy that I know someone in Chicago. A big city like this can be lonely if you don’t have anyone.” There’s a sadness in Rachel’s expression, a weight of experience behind her words, and Mike feels his heart ache for whatever Rachel’s life became in the last few years. 

“Me too.” 

Somehow, without meaning to, they end up in front of Mike’s apartment, and after only a moment’s hesitation, he manages to invite her up without it sounding like a proposal for sex. 

That ends up not mattering though, because the moment they’re inside, right as he’s about to offer her another drink, or a cup of coffee, she’s stepping up on her toes, and pressing her mouth against his firmly. 

When she pulls back, and it’s only then that he notices he’s grabbed her arms to pull her closer, her eyes are wide with fear. She swallows audibly, and he can see the apology she’s about to blurt out, words that will take away all the consequence of action. 

He kisses her to make her stop. It’s probably the fourth glass of wine that makes him say the next thing. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” he whispers against her lips. 

She’s breathless, her eyes flicking up and down between his eyes and mouth. “Yeah?” 

“Definitely.” 

Her hands find purchase in his hair, and she pulls him back into the kiss, pressing up against his whole body in a way that makes him wish they weren’t standing. There’s a wall to his right, and he doesn’t hesitate before spinning her back towards it, and pushing her against it, pressing his hips into hers. 

It gets pretty crazy after that, and Mike can’t seem to focus on one thing at once. She’s pushing his shirt up and over his head, her nails scratching over his abs in a way that makes them clench. He doesn’t waste any time in getting her out of her clothing until she’s standing in just her panties and bra as he walks her back through the apartment towards his bedroom. 

They’re kissing, Rachel’s hands at his neck as they walk. He’s got the top button of his jeans undone and unzipped by the time her legs hit his bed, and they fall against the mattress together. 

It’s only then, when her bare chest is pressed against his own that he realizes what’s going on. He freezes for a just a moment because this is kind of a big deal, and he’s suddenly nervous about this, about her, about how he hasn’t done this in a while, and maybe this is too soon or something. He swallows, pushing up on his hands to hover above her, and looks down at her with a worried expression. 

“Have you...I mean is it...can I...?” He’d be embarrassed that he can’t seem to actually speak correct English right now, but she rocks her hips up against him, his body goes hot all the way through, coherent thought stripped from his brain for a second. 

Bringing her legs up, she pushes her feet against the waistband of his pants and uses them to push them down off his hips, smiling in a way that goes straight to his dick. “It’s okay,” she says, her voice thick and throaty. “I’ve done this before, stop worrying.” 

It’s not really exactly what he was worried, but it was part of it. Before he can hesitate again, she’s kissing him, her fingers scratching against his scalp. When her hand slides between them, and grips him firmly, he let’s other parts of his body that aren’t his brain take over. 

“I want this,” she whispers in his ear, the feel of hot breath against his neck making him shiver. “I want  _you._ ” 

It’s pretty much the hottest thing any girl has said to him. He can’t be blamed for the noise he makes, or the way he presses harder into her as he puts his mouth back on hers. 

“Are you drunk?” He asks suddenly, because she had three glasses of wine at dinner, and if they’re going to do this it’s not going to be a drunken one night stand. 

Rachel’s hands are warm on his chest, and her thighs squeeze his hips. “Sober enough to know I won’t regret it in the morning.” 

That’s good enough for him. 

Later that night, after he makes her come twice, and she’s blinking, sleepy and sated at him in his bed, he runs his hand over her stomach, and thinks he could get used to this really fast. It should probably scare him, but instead he just smiles.

\--

The next morning, Mike is prepared for awkwardness, and he’s on the lookout for anything that indicates Rachel wasn’t as sober as she let on, that the whole night was a mistake. He’s ready for pretty much anything but the easy, comfortable way Rachel kisses him good morning as she hands him a cup of coffee. 

  
He doesn’t know why it shocks him, why he expects the worst. Maybe it’s because life hasn't dealt either of them a perfect hand, and he learned a long time ago that wanting something bad enough isn’t always enough. But for whatever reason, life decides to be nice to him for once. 

In fact, the whole morning feels entirely normal. Like something he’s been doing forever, that  _they’ve_  been doing forever. When he thinks about it, watching Rachel smile at him as she moves around the kitchen, he thinks maybe it’s just who Rachel is. The actress in her has no problem slipping in and out of the roles presented to her. 

There’s something about the site of her wandering around his kitchen in little more than her underwear and a tank top. She’s been here countless times before, but there’s something significantly more domestic about the thing. His hands itch with the urge to touch her, to run his hands up her hips, tugging the tank top up her chest, before throwing them both back down on the nearest horizontal surface.

He doesn’t want her to leave. It hits him as soon as she disappears to the bedroom to put her clothes back on, and he finds himself staring resentfully at her purse, perched on the kitchen table. He knows she should probably go, and that it’s kind of clingy and lame to try and spend the rest of the day together so he swallows against the words that want to come out. It takes some determination, but he helps her find the shirt he threw off her the night before, and recovers a shoe that was hiding under his couch. 

At the door, he kisses her because he’s pretty sure he can, and she smiles against his mouth. He may be determined to act nonchalant about just how much he likes her, but he can’t stop the next few words from coming out. “You want to hang out tonight, maybe grab dinner or something?”

Rachel’s face brightens for a second before falling into a frown. “I’d love to,” she says sadly, “But I’m kind of busy tonight.” 

“Hot date,” he jokes. 

She wrings her hand for a second, clearly debating something before saying. “Actually I got a job singing at a jazz club for the evening.”

“Oh cool. Where? I’ll come see you sometime.” 

“No!” Rachel exclaims quickly, putting her hands up. “Don’t.” 

“What, why not?” 

“I just,” she swallows, and he can see the fear around her eyes. “I’d just rather you didn’t.” 

He shrugs, not understanding why she’d be so nervous about it. The Rachel Berry he thought he knew  _lives_  to perform. Not for the first time, he wonders what happened to her in the six years since high school. “Okay, no problem.” 

She breathes a sigh of relief. “Thanks. Maybe we can meet up after?” 

The look she sends him is hopeful. His heart tightens at the sudden suggestion that maybe she’s not ready to leave either. He smiles. “I’ll count the minutes.” 

\--

She asks him not to, but he can’t deny his curiosity. He hasn’t heard seen her really truly perform in years, and he kind of wants to know if the experience lives up to memory. So that night, he blows off Santana and Brittany when they call to make plans, and he googles jazz bars for over an hour, checking their guest calenders until he finally sees her name next to the 8 o’clock time slot. The bar’s not too far away, just a few train rides, and a little walk. 

The place is a little seedier than he expects it to be, but it’s pretty packed. He orders a beer at the bar, and then finds a quiet space on the back wall where he can see the stage. He’s three beers in by the time he finally sees Rachel step up to the microphone, smiling at the man sitting at the piano. 

When she sings Mike feels like he’s being pulled back and pushed forward in time all at once. It’s exactly like he remembered, and totally different at the same time. 

He’s not surprised to find out that she’s just as fantastic as he remembers her, if not more so. There’s something more mature about the way she sings, the way she works a crowd with her eyes. He watches the patrons eat it up, hang on her every word. 

She finishes to roaring applause, and Mike feels his heart stop at the sight of the smile on her face. If anyone ever had a doubt that this is exactly what Rachel Berry should be doing for the rest of her life...

She steps off the stage, and Mike watches her approach the bar, still beaming, before weaving his way through the crowd to find her. 

His hand is on the small of her back before he knows it, and she’s jumping at the contact turning to look at him with curious and then surprised eyes. “Mike!” 

“You were fantastic,” he breathes, smiling in awe of her. 

“I told you not to come.” She frowns, and all that pride she emanated seconds ago deflates. 

“You were being stupid,” he says bluntly. Maybe it’s the beers, or maybe it’s just that he’s tired of this new Rachel. The one that clearly can’t believe in herself anymore. Anyone that sings like she just did, should never doubt herself like that. “You’re being stupid.” 

Indignation takes hold of her expression, and she shoves him a little. “Don’t call me stupid.” 

He grabs her hands, and pulls her close to him, pressing a hard kiss to her forehead. “You killed it tonight, and I’m glad I didn’t do what you told me to.” 

She still looks a little pissed that he’s there, but he can tell the compliments are winning her over. If there’s one thing that hasn’t changed about her, it’s her addiction to being told how great she is. He thinks it’d probably be unattractive on anyone else, but when a light flush dusts her cheek when he tells her again that she owned the living crap out of that song, warmth pools in his stomach. 

“Seriously, Rach. I’ve never seen anyone dominate a stage like you can. You could sing the phone book and I’d pay a hundo a ticket to see you.” 

He opens his mouth to continue, but she puts her hand over it, and smiles up at him affectionately. “You made your point.” 

He smiles against her hand, and she lowers it, still smiling at him, her nose wrinkled in mirth. He kisses her because he’s wanted to do it for hours. 

“Let’s go home,” she sighs, and something about him loves that she uses that word. 

\--

They’re on the floor of his kitchen, backs up against the cabinets next to the fridge, and a carton of nondairy ice cream is on the floor between them, two spoons jutting out of it. They’re feeding each other ice cream like they’re in some 90s chick flick, but Mike can’t find it in him to care how lame it probably looks. Considering how Rachel practically jumped him as soon as they walked in the apartment, and didn’t let up for what felt like hours...he’s riding the happy train straight to elatedville right now. 

Rachel’s naked on his floor, her hair a complete mess from his fingers, and she keeps missing his mouth, dribbling cold ice cream on to his chest, only to coyly lick it away seconds later. Yeah, not so much with the caring. 

He makes a mental note that complimenting her endlessly on a performance always breeds excellent results. 

She laughs when he spoons out a particularly huge portion and smothers it against her lips, and he starts chuckling too into a sloppy kiss, making sure he gets all of the ice cream off her face. 

“So,” he says after the ice cream is gone, and he’s thrown the empty carton in the direction of the trash. “Are we going to talk about it?” 

She’s still laughing a little, pecking curious and distracting kisses to his shoulder. “Talk about what? All the things I’m going to do to you in a few minutes? Or all the things I did to you before?” 

An unattractive croaking sound leaves his throat, and Mike looks down at her, wondering what happened to the shy, and proper Rachel he thought he knew. With a shake of his head, he manages to stay on task. “About why you’re sneaking off to do amateur night at the local bar. Or how about why there are probably fifty theaters hosting musical productions that would kill to have you, but you haven’t auditioned once since you’ve been here.” 

Pulling away from him, her expression shifts into a frown, and Mike almost regrets his subject change, but he knows this is important. “That’s not really any of your business.” 

“Rachel,” he chastises. “You’re my,” he pauses, because he realizes he might sound kind of presumptuous, but the memory of her in his kitchen just that morning, looking like she belonged there every morning, spurs him on. “You’re my girlfriend, and that makes it my business.” 

She pushes farther away from him. “We slept together, Mike, let’s not make this into a thing.” 

“That’s not how it works for me,” he says, “and it’s not how it works for you so you can stop pretending. I’d like to think I know you well enough by now to know that’s true. Now stop avoiding the subject.” 

She sighs, but he can see her giving in. “I don’t see why you’re so surprised. I’ve always been a performer.” 

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Exactly, so why are you settling for open mic night, when you’re  _that_  good? Chicago has theaters too you know.” 

Rachel’s silent for a moment, chewing at her bottom lip. “I don’t want to be in theater.” 

“I don’t understand,” Mike says, brow furrowing, shaking his head. 

“I’m not,” she stops, looking unsure of herself, before sighing and hanging her head.

“You were great in there,” he says insistently. “Rachel, you are great. The greatest I’ve ever known in my life.” 

Rachel shrugs, looking small. “It’s easy in that venue. I’m not worried about being the best in there. I am the best. The competition is a little different when I’m on a bigger stage.”

He’s quiet after that, because he doesn’t quite know what to make of this new Rachel, lacking the nearly overwhelming confidence he remembers from high school. He takes a deep breath, looks at her seriously, and finally asks the question he’s been dying to ask since they first met for drinks, months ago. 

“Tell me what happened in New York.” 

A heavy silence falls between them, and for a second he thinks Rachel might not answer him. 

“It wasn’t New York,” she says quietly. “Not really.” 

“Something happened, and I have a hard time believing that,” he says softly. 

“Honestly,” she insists, a small, sad smile on her lips. “New York is still...That city will always be my heart and soul. It’s truly the city of dreams and I love it. It’s a part of me.” 

“So then why are you here?” 

She shrugs, looks off into the distance for a second. “I spent most of my life choosing my dreams over everything else, of prioritizing them above everything, and then when I finally got there, when I was finally in New York, and I was singing, and doing everything I had ever wanted to do...I was alone.” 

He nods a little. 

“Kurt and I, we,” she pauses a second, “we both wanted it all so badly, and I can still remember that first rejection, getting told I wasn’t pretty enough, or I wasn’t young enough, whatever excuse they used that time. Kurt too. I knew that rejection was a part of it, you know?” 

She looks at him, and he nods again, throwing his arm around her shoulders and pulling her into his side. 

“I knew I wasn’t just going to show up and suddenly be the star I’m destined to be, but every audition I didn’t get was just harder and harder to swallow. I didn’t understand why they didn’t appreciate my obvious talent, my clear dedication to the craft. Years of hard work, and nothing? Kurt would come home, and Blaine would console him, gear him up for the next audition and make him feel optimistic again, but I’d just be alone. Alone with the voices of my own incompetence.” 

“Rachel,” he starts, but she interrupts him. 

“Coming here to Chicago, it wasn’t about giving up on all that,” she explains, shaking her head. “That girl you used to know, the one that knew nothing could stop her from being on the stage, in the spotlight? That girl is still inside me. She just needed a break. She just needed to feel not so alone for a little bit.” 

“So you came to a city where you don’t know  _anyone_?” 

She laughs. “Seems strange, right?” 

He chuckles, nods. 

“There’s something about being alone in a city of strangers. It’s a little easier to swallow than seeing your best friend be so  _together_  with someone, and feeling all the more alone.” 

He gets that, probably more than she realizes. Watching Santana and Brittany grow closer and closer every year, as if that was possible, is hard sometimes when he’s never had anything close to what they do. “I know what you mean,” he says softly. 

“I just needed a break,” she repeats. “I needed to feel like I deserve it again. I have no history of rejection here, no constant reminder that I’m not good enough for this part, or that part. Just a string of small performances in front of crowds that love me. Maybe I can have a little taste of what it’d be like to have a normal life, and a career at the same time before I go back and accept that it’s not for me.” 

He thinks for a moment, his fingers tracing light circles on her arms, before taking a deep breath and confessing, “When I first came to Chicago, I wanted to dance.” 

She looks up at him. “But you...” 

“It obviously didn’t work out,” he says, smiling self deprecating. “But for the first year or two all I did was try out for any job that involved dancing I could find. I know what it’s like to feel like you can’t win. I only have half the talent you have. You can’t just give that up.” 

“You did,” she chastises. “Which is another conversation we should really be having.” 

“I did,” he agrees. “I gave it up, and honestly, I’m okay with that. But you’re Rachel Berry, and you shouldn’t be settling like you are.” 

She sighs. “I’m just taking a breather.” 

“Just don’t let your  _breather_  last too long until it’s suddenly become your life.” 

“Mike,” she says softly, a small chuckle behind her words. “There’s a reason I’m living out of a hotel room. That I haven’t tried that hard to find an apartment. “

He smiles, bringing his hand up to cup her cheek, and kissing her gently. “You’re going to be famous one day,” he says softly. “Don’t lose sight of that.” 

“I’ll try not to,” she says softly, and for a second there he thinks she might be crying. 

\--

He figures out he’s pretty much totally in love with her in the stupidest of ways. 

They have their first fight, and it’s about as ridiculous a fight as he’s had with anyone. He can’t even remember  _what_  exactly she’s mad about, but it’s enough to make her scream at him in the kitchen. He’s never been one to get mad enough to raise his voice, but even  _he’s_ getting a little incensed. 

It ends with her storming out, and he’d laugh at how reminiscent it is of her in high school if he wasn’t so pissed. 

Their fight lasts nearly the whole rest of the afternoon, and late into the evening until Mike realizes that’s he’s miserable without her around, and if he can’t even figure out what he was so mad about in the first place then maybe neither can she. 

Swallowing his pride, he grabs his jacket, and makes the trip across town to her hotel. It’s late, and he probably looks like hell, which is why the doorman gives him a curious look when he shows up, but he makes it up to her room without a problem. 

He hesitates for just a moment, because it is late, and she’s probably asleep, but he doesn’t want to waste another minute apart from her. Somewhere in this hotel room she’s lying in a bed without him and that just doesn’t fly. 

It takes seven hard knocks for her to get to the door, and when she opens it, squinting into the lit hallway, he can tell she’s been crying. 

“Sorry,” he blurts out. He doesn’t know what for, nor does he care, he just wants to fix whatever it is that’s hurting her. 

Her face screws up like she’s going to cry again, so he pushes his way inside, shutting the door before wrapping his arms around her to pull her against him. He murmurs incoherent apologies into her hair until she calms down. 

“I  _hate_  fighting,” she says into his shirt. 

“Me too.” 

When she pulls back, wiping her eyes, she looks at the clock, and chuckles softly. “Mike, it’s four in the morning.” 

He shrugs. “I was miserable without you.” 

She makes that face again, the one that looks like she’s going to cry, but there’s a joy in her eyes that makes him think he said the right thing. 

That’s about when he notices that she’s only wearing a t-shirt, and that the shirt is in fact one of Mike’s from high school. He probably left it here one night when he stayed over. 

He really hopes that their fight is officially over or whatever because his girlfriend is wearing just  _his_  shirt, standing next to a queen sized bed, and he hasn’t touched her in nearly eighteen hours. 

“Rach, is that my shirt?” 

She bites her lips, and fingers the hem, looking up at him. “I missed you,” she says softly. 

He kisses her, bunching the grey fabric at her back in his hands, and pushes her down on her bed. He’s never felt this way about any other girl, like he’ll feel physical pain if he doesn’t get to touch her, doesn’t get to be around her. Just the sight of her makes him smile, makes him want to hug her and never let go. 

When she’s curled against him later, after the hot make up sex, and more whispered apologies, he presses his mouth against her forehead, and has to swallow hard against the  _I love you_  that wants to come out. 

\--

The last time he told a girl he loved her, he thought it meant forever. He still remembers the way Tina’s smile grew, slow and disbelieving, across her face as she registered the words. Memories of Tina always make him smile sadly, happiness fading with that last image of saying goodbye, of knowing that his  _forever_  was ending, of seeing her smile leave her face. 

He hasn’t said the words since, hasn’t even really felt them in forever, but here he is, in love with Rachel Berry, and he thinks he might tell her. To say he’s a little nervous is an understatement. 

So he does the sensible thing. He practices. 

He shoots a text to Santana asking her to come over, but he’s vague on the specifics. She texts him back with a question mark, but he just insists he needs to talk to her, and she finally complies. 

It’s only after he cracks open a bottle of wine, and they’re sitting on the floor, backs up against his living room couch, that he finally confesses. 

“Okay, so maybe possibly I think I might be in love with Rachel.” 

The only reaction Santana gives him is a half-hearted eye roll, and a small shake of her head. She stares straight ahead, sipping her wine for a few seconds before finally saying, “I  _told_  you.” 

“That’s all you have to say to that?” 

She shrugs. “Brittany called it weeks ago. I’ve had adjustment time.” 

“Santana,” he breathes. 

“Look,” she says, definitively, turning to face him, and setting her glass on the table. Her hands grab him by the shoulders. “Would I have picked Rachel Berry for you? No, probably not,” she says with a shrug. “But I’m happy if you’re happy, Mike. You’re my best friend apart from Britt, and I’m glad you found someone.” 

“Wow,” he says, feeling a little shocked. Santana let’s him go, smiling, and leaning back against the couch. “Thanks.” 

“Plus, this way you’ll stop fantasizing about my girlfriend every time we go dancing together.” 

His jaw drops, and he sputters indignantly. A part of him will always love Brittany, but he’s pretty much known how that was going to end since he was a teenager. “I don’t, what are you, no.” 

She laughs, shoving him lightly. “I’m kidding.” 

Deflating, he allows himself a laugh as well, shaking his head at her. 

“Not that I blame you,” she adds, smiling to herself. She takes a breath, slapping her thighs with both palms suddenly. “Anyway, so what are you going to do?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“You’re going to tell her, right?” 

“Well, yeah, I guess.” 

“Okay so this is Rachel Berry. We need a plan.” 

“We do?” 

“Why what’s your plan right now? Blurt it out randomly? 

“I hadn’t really thought about it.” 

“Look, Rachel’s the kind of girl that’s not going to believe you if you shout it out in the middle of fucking, or like with your mouthful of pizza or whatever lame boy shit you’ll end up doing.” 

He sends her an indignant look, but she ignores him. 

“You’re going to have to convince her. She probably won’t believe you, so just....,” she pauses, looking away for a second, and Mike wonders what she’s thinking about that’s putting that look on her face. “Just be sincere and lay it all out for her. Don’t let her doubt it for a second.” 

“Why would she doubt it?” 

“Oh come on,” Santana says, scoffing. “You’ve  _seen_  Rachel since she’s been here right?” 

Of course Mike has, but he didn’t think Santana had really been paying that much attention. Sometimes he seriously thinks his CIA theory isn’t that far off the mark. “What’s your point?” 

“She’s all angsty, and self-pitying or whatever. Way more than she ever was in high school so clearly her big Broadway dreams of whatever failed on her, and if you’re Rachel Berry that’s pretty much like having your one true love break your heart. Like I said, don’t leave room for doubt.” 

“When did you get all wise and shit about romance?” 

Santana laughs as she pours more wine in their glasses. “Maybe I just never thought you worthy of my priceless advice.” 

He shoves her, and she nearly spills her wine, but soon they’re both laughing, and Mike feels all the nervousness from before leave him. 

Three bottles of wine later, Santana scrawls out their master plan, really only two steps, and shoves the piece of paper in his hand. They’re both laughing, and practically incoherent by that point, but Mike manages to stumble towards his bedroom, leaving Santana in the living room with slurred instructions not to try to walk home. 

\--

When he wakes up the next morning, sprawled sideways on his bed, and still in the clothes from the night before, the list is stuck to his cheek, drool smudging out some of the letters. 

There’s a pounding on his apartment door, and it’s making his head throb. It takes him a couple seconds to get moving, wiping off his face, and running fingers through his hair as he stuffs the crumpled list into this pocket. 

Santana’s snoring on his couch, but his head hurts too much to laugh at her as he passes. Her phone is flipped open in one hand, arm hanging off the side, and he can barely make out a half typed text message unsent on the screen. 

The pounding continues, and Santana shifts a little as he winces. When he swings the door open, Brittany is on the other side holding two huge cups of coffee and a brown paper bag. 

He gives her a contrite look immediately, glancing at Santana’s sleeping form before saying, “Sorry.” 

Brittany laughs, pushing her way past him, and shaking her head. “It’s okay,” she says brightly, “Santana texted me. I heard all about the plan and I’ve come to help.” 

“Is that coffee for me?” He asks hopefully. 

A noise suddenly erupts from the couch, and Santana’s shooting upward, blinking awake, and looking around. “Coffee?” 

Then, like her body finally catches up to what’s going on, she flops back down into the cushions with a groan. “Oh my God, why is my head trying to eat my brain?” 

Brittany laughs, but Mike winces in sympathy and gratefully grabs the coffee Brittany’s holding out towards him. She goes down to sit next to Santana, and Mike follows, slouching into his big leather arm chair, and sipping at the hot liquid in his hand. 

“Coffee,” Brittany tells Santana, setting it on the table in front of them. “And a danish.” 

Santana lifts her head up a little, and Brittany shifts to let her lie back down on her lap, stroking hair off Santana’s forehead. “I’m in love with you,” Santana says, reaching out for the danish. 

Brittany smiles. “Because of the danish?” 

Santana nods, her mouth full of pastry. “Yes.” 

Mike’s never understood how Santana can be hungover and still want to eat, but each to their own he supposes. 

Brittany pulls something out of her pocket, and looks at Mike, holding it up towards him before chucking it across the room in his direction. His head feels like it’s full of cotton, and his hands don’t seem to remember how to move fast enough, so instead of catching whatever it is, it just hits him in the chest and falls down to his lap. 

It’s a packet of aspirin, and he smiles gratefully at her before, popping the tablets in his mouth, and swallowing it down with hot coffee, not caring how the liquid burns his throat on the way down. 

“So,” Brittany starts, still running her fingers through Santana’s hair. “Did we come up with a plan.” 

Santana nods, and mumbles unintelligibly around the food in her mouth, so Mike speaks up. 

“From what I remember,” he says, sinking back into the leather as the caffeine and pain killers start to do their job. “We wrote it down somewhere.” 

Brittany points towards his hip. “On that paper sticking out of your pocket?” 

“Oh right!” He pulls it out, and tries to make out whatever he and Santana scribbled there last night. “Buy her flowers,” he says slowly, squinting at it. “Give them to her. Tell her you love - Santana, this plan blows.” 

“Does not,” Santana mumbles, curled into Brittany, and looking at him disdainfully. “It’s simple, and romantic.” 

“You sure I shouldn’t like sing her a song, or do something more dramatic?” 

“This plan is better, promise.” 

Brittany nods sagely. “You’ll stand out,” she says, Santana nodding her head in agreement. “Everyone else has gone with the drama, you can be different.” 

“I guess.” 

“Dude, trust me,” Santana orders, finally sitting up, and grabbing her coffee. “It’ll work.” 

“You hate Rachel,” Mike says, suddenly skeptical of Santana’s intentions. It’s stupid because he was the one that asked her for help in the first place, but whatever. 

“Yeah, well, you don’t,” she grumbles, sipping her coffee. “So whatever.” 

Brittany beams like Santana just said something a lot more significant than that, and kisses her on the cheek. When Santana looks back at her girlfriend, a look of complete affection on her face, Mike thinks that maybe it’s okay to trust Santana on this one. 

\--

For the first time since Mike started hanging out with Rachel, Santana asks them to all go out together instead of the other way around. He’s a little nervous at first, but Santana did help him plan his big  _I love you_  declaration after all, so it might not be too bad. Plus Brittany will be there, and he does want them all to start hanging out more. 

When Mike and Rachel get there, they find Santana and Brittany already seated at a small table in the corner, cocktails in front of them. 

Almost immediately, Santana stands and walks towards Rachel, grabbing her arm and pulling her out of the chair she just sat in. “Come on,” Santana orders. 

“W-w-what?” Rachel sputters out, staring at Santana, confused. 

“Mike likes you,” Santana explains, and even though it’s pretty common knowledge to everyone within earshot, he feels his cheeks redden. “He’s decided to keep you or whatever, and since Mike here is my best friend, I’ve decided we’re going to be friends now too.” 

Rachel, wide eyed, can’t seem to do anything but stare at Santana, mouth dropping open silently. Mike catches Brittany grinning from across the table. 

“So we’re going to go over there.” She points towards the bar. “Throw back a few shots. You’ll try to be less annoying than usual. I’ll try to tone down the bitch, and then we’re going to like each other. Got it?” 

Finally seeming to understand what’s happening, Rachel nods with a smile, and takes a step towards Santana. “I’m going to hug you now,” she says. 

Santana holds out a hand, halting Rachel’s movement. “Shots first, okay?” 

Rachel laughs, accepting that. “Okay.” 

They walk off towards the bar, and Rachel looks over her shoulder at Mike briefly, and winks. Brittany laughs next to him, and Mike can’t decide if he’s facing the end of all things, or the beginning. 

\--

Rachel and Santana stay at the bar nearly the whole night, leaving Mike and Brittany by themselves at the table. He spends the first hour or so throwing worried glances their direction, but Brittany reassures him it’ll be fine, and eventually he loosens up enough to play a few games of darts with Brittany. 

By the time he remembers to check up on them again, Rachel’s laugh rings out loud across the dim chatter of the room, and he turns to see her bowled over, leaning heavily into Santana’s side. They’re both practically doubled over in mirth, Santana apparently still trying to finish whatever it is she’s saying. 

It’s like a weight lifts off his shoulders that he didn’t know was there before, and he lets out a heavy breath. Brittany slides up next to him, and grabs his hand companionably. “Come on,” she whispers. “Before they remember that they don’t like each other.” 

They’re throwing another shot back when Brittany and Mike finally reach them, and Rachel coughs a little after she swallows until Santana smacks her in the arm a few times with an amused, “Buck up, Berry.” 

They both start laughing hysterically again. Brittany and Mike exchange bewildered looks. 

Letting go of his hand, Brittany slides up next to Santana and eyes Rachel. “How’s it going over here?” 

“Babe!” Santana exclaims loudly. She wraps an arm around Brittany’s waist and tugs her into her side, grinning up at her with a glazed expression. “Rachel is like... _hilarious._ ” She turns to look at Mike. “You didn’t tell me she’s hilarious now.” 

Rachel smiles proudly, practically preening, as she looks at Mike. “I’m hilarious,” she proclaims. 

He laughs. “That’s the word on the street.” 

Draping his arm over her shoulder, he presses a kiss into her hair, and looks to where Brittany’s trying to convince Santana that they don’t need more shots. “How it’d go over here?” 

Leaning in close to him, Rachel’s face goes serious. “I think she likes me,” she says conspiratorially. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yes,” Rachel says, more certain. “It seems that with the help of spirits, Santana Lopez has finally warmed up to one Rachel Berry.” 

The bartender walks up, sliding four shot glasses towards them, and Mike sends a look towards Brittany who can’t do anything but shrug. 

“To reunions,” Santana says loudly, raising her shot glass. She gestures towards Rachel. “And to new friendships.” 

He’s never seen Rachel look so happy before, and he’s suddenly overcome with love for his best friend for putting that look on her face. 

They clink glasses, and Mike throws the alcohol back, surprised at the taste. “Chick shots, Santana?” 

“Fuck you,” she laughs. 

“Language,” Rachel admonishes, smacking Santana on the arm. 

It’s like they all suck in a collective breath, and by  _they all_  he really only means he and Brittany, but he waits for Santana to react, only letting it out when all she does is laugh loudly. 

“I will make you cuss by the time I’m through with you, bitch.” 

Rachel stares at her defiantly, but there’s a smile on her face, and Mike feels like his life is suddenly moving in a direction he’s totally okay with. It’s the first time in a long time he’s felt that way. 

Later, after they stumble out of the club, and he says goodbye to Brittany, he hugs Santana tightly, and presses his lips into her hair. “You’re the best,” he whispers. 

“It’s what you deserve,” she mumbles into the cotton of his shirt. 

When they detach, she smiles at him, grabbing Brittany’s hand, and waving a little as they start to stagger backwards down the street. Rachel loops her arm through his, but before they turn to leave, Santana’s voice rings out down the street. 

“Don’t forget the plan.” 

His eyes go wide, but he ignores her, tugging Rachel with him towards his apartment. “What is she talking about?” 

“Don’t worry about it.” 

His phone vibrates in his pocket. The text from Santana reads,  _don’t be a chickenshit. you can do it._  

He laughs because who would have thought Santana Lopez would be the best friend he ever had. 

\--

He buy flowers, pink roses because he thinks she’ll like the weather, and shows up at her hotel room. 

“I love you,” he says quickly, right as she opens the door. He gets it out as fast as he can, not sure he’d be able to say it if he waited. “I’m in love with you,” he repeats just to make sure it’s clear. 

He expects joy. Shock, maybe, because he kind of says it out of nowhere, but mostly joy. He’s seen enough romantic comedies to know what kind of meaning  _I love you_  is supposed to have for girls. 

Even though Santana sort of warned him it might happen, he doesn’t really expect, “No you don’t.” 

“What?” 

“You can’t love me,” she says, shaking her head rapidly. He sees the signs of panic written all over her face, and when she backs away into her hotel room, he follows and shuts the door. 

“Except I do.” 

She just keeps shaking her head. “No, no, no.” 

He tries not to freak out about the fact that he’s holding a bouquet of flowers awkwardly in the middle of a hotel suite as he listens to his girlfriend panic because he told her loves her. With a deep breath, he remembers what Santana told him about leaving no room for doubt. 

Setting the flowers down on a table, he laughs, and approaches her slowly. “Rach, calm down.” 

Her eyes are wide, and she hasn’t stopped shaking her head back and forth. He puts his hands on her cheeks to stop the motion, looking down into her eyes. “What’s wrong?” 

She’s probably about to cry, and he  _hates_  that. He strokes his thumbs up and down to try and reassure her. 

“You can’t love me, not  _this_  me.” 

“What are you talking about?” 

“Not  _this_  me,” she repeats. “Not the me that couldn’t cut it in New York, and came back here with her tail between her legs.” 

Something twists inside him, because he thought they were past this, and he aches for that part of her heart that New York broke. 

“Rachel,” he whispers, stroking a strand of brown hair off her forehead. He sighs a little, but smiles. “Even if you never made it on Broadway, even if you never became famous, and people never appreciated your talent, you’d still be the best thing that ever happened to me. You’d still be a star in my book.” 

She looks like she’s going to argue, so he kisses her firmly. 

“I love you,” he whispers against her lips. “But you’re going to make it, you’re going to get all those things because you’re Rachel Berry, and you’re a star. If you have a hard time remembering who you are, you just ask me, okay? I’ll remind you.” 

A cautious smile starts to spread across her face. 

“I can love  _this_  you,” he says, “because she’s no different than the one I’m going to be asking to sign playbills for me in a few years. She’s no different from that one I’m going to spend hundreds of dollars to perform on a big Broadway stage, okay?” 

“You really believe in me that much.” 

He smiles. “I  _know_  you, Rach. This is just one chapter of a much longer book.” 

She looks up at him for a moment, like she can’t decide if she wants to give in or not, and he breathes a sigh of relief when he finally sees the right decision flicker across her face. 

She kisses him softly. “Why are you so great?” 

“Asian magic,” he jokes. 

“I wouldn’t make you pay to see me perform,” she says coyly. 

He grins. “I knew there were some benefits to dating you.” 

She smacks him playfully, laughing. Then, like she’s just realizing something, her face falls. “If I go back to New York...” 

He loves her, so the next words aren’t hard. “I’m right behind you, Rach.” 

“Mike,” she starts, shaking her head. 

“You can have both,” he says. “You can have me and your big Broadway dreams. I don’t know who convinced you otherwise, but if it takes the rest of my life to convince you that I’m in this for the long haul, I’m okay with that.” 

She stares at him, her eyes roaming his face like she’s looking for something. “You’d follow me to New York City? Leave all this? Santana? Brittany?” 

He shrugs. Does he want to leave Chicago? No. Would he? For this girl? Absolutely. “They call this the second city anyway,” he says with a chuckle. 

“I don’t know,” she says, stepping forward and running a hand through his hair to grip at his neck. “Chicago’s kind of growing on me.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” she repeats. “I don’t think this chapter is ready to end just yet. Chicago  _does_  have some pretty prestigious theaters after all.” 

He smiles down at her, kissing her and wrapping his arms around her waist to lift her off the ground. She squeals into the kiss, and he laughs. “This city won’t know what hit them.” 

She’s grinning, arms linked behind his neck, and feet still off the ground when she says, “Hey, Mike?” 

“Yeah, Rach?” 

“I love you too.” 

It’s better than anything he’s ever heard anyone say to to him  _ever_. “Awesome,” he breathes out, an awed smile on his face. 

They make love slowly, to the sounds of afternoon in the city just outside the window. Rachel whispers  _I love you_  as she falls apart, and Mike smiles into the soft skin of her shoulder. It feels more like forever than anything ever has before.

After they’ve exhausted themselves, and Rachel is tracing the lines of his abdomen, he stares at the discarded flowers next to the mini bar, and his eyes wander around the small room. 

It’s probably the orgasm making his brain fuzzy, but his mouth starts talking without his brain paying attention. “Move in with me,” he practically demands. 

Rachel stills her tracing, shifting on his chest to look at him. “What?” 

He swallows, and manages not to chicken it out. Maybe it’s not the smartest thing to dump two big revelations on a girl in the span of a few hours, but his heart’s kind of running the show right now. 

“You’re living out of a hotel, Rach. I think it’s about time you move in with me. You might not feel like you’re in  _Chicago_  permanently, but you’re in my life that way, so...” 

Slowly, a grin spreads across her face until she’s beaming at him, free and happy. “Michael Chang,” she says softly, but seriously. “I thought you’d never ask.” 

\--

It ends with, of all things, an e-mail to Santana Lopez. 

 _Thanks,_  is all it says, but when she replies a few minutes later with  _If you two are stupid enough to get married I better be your best man,_  he knows she gets it.

  
  
  



End file.
